


Mercy

by crorvid



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Other, PWP, Rough Sex, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 04:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20352403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crorvid/pseuds/crorvid
Summary: It wasn’tfair,he thought, that Aziraphale held himself back, even with Crowley sprawled beneath him, ankles crossed behind his back, hands tangled in stardust curls and eyelashes fluttering as the angel moved so slowly, so infuriatingly gently, and it was good, it wasgood,butoh,it could be so muchbetter.





	Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to my music on shuffle, thinking about A/C as I am wont to do, and then No Mercy by Zayde Wølf came on and I was immediately possessed to write this. Enjoy! I sure did.

Crowley did love Aziraphale’s softness. He loved the fastidious care he gave his antiquated velvet waistcoat and how he drank hot cocoa with marshmallows out of a tacky mug with angel wings that Crowley had bought him for a laugh and the way his eyes twinkled when he ran his fingertips along the timeworn spines of his books.

But Crowley loved Aziraphale all the more for his hedonism, for the quirk of his lips when Crowley proved that he was positively wrapped around the angel’s finger, for the innocent tilt of his head when he slid his hand up Crowley’s thigh during the slow parts of musicals, for the times when he let slip just a hint of what an absolute _ bastard _ he could be.

It was never more than a hint. No matter how much Crowley pushed his buttons, how much he tempted, needled, insinuated. Aziraphale was quite adept at maintaining his angelic demeanor, regardless of how Crowley wished he would stop trying to act how he thought he was supposed to and just _ fuck him into the mattress. _

Not that Aziraphale had any problem to speak of with _ making love_. Angels were full of _ love_, bursting at the seams with it. As far as he was concerned, _ making love _ was what angels were meant to do, and Crowley certainly wouldn’t argue that Aziraphale had thoroughly proven his particular talent for it.

He was just also fairly confident that Aziraphale would do quite well to drop the maddening forbearance and properly rail him, indulge in the shimmering salacity right under the surface of his skin, remind Crowley that angels were celestial warriors before anything, piercing eyes and flaming swords and _ be not afraid_. 

It wasn’t _ fair_, he thought, that Aziraphale held himself back, even with Crowley sprawled beneath him, ankles crossed behind his back, hands tangled in stardust curls and eyelashes fluttering as the angel moved so slowly, so infuriatingly gently, and it was good, it was _ good_, but _ oh_, it could be so much _ better_.

"Harder, please, _ please_." A whisper against his lips.

Out, and in again, moderate and unerring as the tide. "I don't want to hurt you."

A laugh, then, sharp and bitter, humorless. "And I don't want your _ mercy_, angel." Tongue flicked over teeth and a puff of air, impatient, not _ caring _ if it hurts. Wanting it to. 

Out again, all the way. Aziraphale leans back onto his ankles, looks at Crowley, takes in the set of his jaw and the steadiness of his gaze. No marks of indecision. He’d made sure of that. 

_ Please don’t make me say it. Don’t make me explain this to you. You know you’re the only thing that makes me feel safe. I know you would never hurt me, not really, not in the ways I’ve been hurt before. Don’t you see? I want you to hurt me in different ways. Ways I choose, angel, please. Let me have this. _

"Don't hold back. Give it to me. _ Now_." Spoken in the hazy space between command and plea.

A spark of understanding flickered in Aziraphale’s eyes, quickly doused by something else, something dark and liquid that Crowley didn’t get a chance to parse before Aziraphale rested his hands on Crowley’s hips and a muscle in his cheek twitched and he spoke, voice low.

"Greedy."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “What?”

The grip on his hips tightened and his breath caught in his throat as he was harshly flipped onto his stomach, grasping at the sheets as he was pulled onto his knees with a degree of strength that Aziraphale usually made it very easy to forget he possessed. 

“I said,” he hissed, hot breath on Crowley’s ear, hot skin flush against his back, hot lips and hot tongue and _ teeth _ on his neck. “_Greedy_.”

He couldn’t argue, even if he wanted to, even if he hadn’t been dreaming of Aziraphale treating him like this. Couldn’t do much more than whine and push his hips desperately back, so close to finally getting what he had asked for and already thoroughly wrecked at just the promise of it.

Blazing face buried in the pillow, Crowley felt soft hands trail down his sides before fingernails dug sharply into the curve of his ass, seizing and tugging apart and bruising, running a thumb against him, already sensitive, already open and wanting and ready. 

“Patience is a virtue, my dear.” He dug his fingers in deeper as Crowley rocked backwards, searching for friction that Aziraphale wasn’t willing to give him yet. He elected instead to trace his tongue over the space between Crowley’s shoulderblades and press his thumb down into his perineum until he choked. “Although, I suppose that’s not really your area, now is it?”

“Ngk.” 

He could feel Aziraphale grin against him. _ Smug bastard. _

“Yes, I quite agree,” he murmured, pressing kisses into Crowley’s neck and shoulders. It was almost gentle, were it not for the unbearable pressure of his fingers and the scrape of his teeth. Not enough to leave marks, though. Not yet. 

“Anyway, it seems you’re in luck.” His tone was casual as the pressure of his thumb let up, not enough time for Crowley even to whimper at the loss before it was replaced by something slick and hot and Crowley moaned. “I’m also not in a particularly virtuous mood.”

Aziraphale pressed his cock against Crowley, still not quite pushing in, not quite giving him what he wanted. He ground down, teasing, as he leaned in to bite his earlobe. “And I seem to recall that you’re not interested in mercy, either,” he whispered, kissing and biting his way across the back of Crowley’s neck to his other ear. “That being said,” and something about the shift in his tone and the stilling of his hips made Crowley push through the desire that clouded his brain and listen, “if you change your mind, just say the word. _ Mercy. _ Alright?”

The idea that Aziraphale might do something to him that would warrant him begging for mercy made it very difficult for Crowley to remember how to speak, but he choked it out, knowing that Aziraphale wouldn’t go any further until he did. “Alright.”

“Very good, my dear.” Crowley found himself rewarded by a mark sucked into the back of his neck and a particularly deft thrust that had him gritting his teeth to hold back a groan. He muttered something incomprehensible into the pillow and Aziraphale rutted against him harder, making him twist his fingers into the fabric. “What was that?”

Crowley swallowed hard. “Ah—angel, _ please_.” Aziraphale pulled back and pressed the head of his cock against Crowley, hand holding his trembling hip with bruising force lest he attempt to push back and take control. He pressed a chaste kiss into the damp skin of Crowley’s shoulder.

“Since you ask so politely,” he breathed, and snapped his hips forward, sheathing himself to the hilt inside Crowley with one vicious thrust and wrenching a broken scream from him. Aziraphale moaned and withdrew, slamming back in without pause, establishing a rhythm that had Crowley scrabbling for purchase lest he be fucked into the headboard and through it.

Aziraphale reinforced his hold, wrapping his arm around Crowley’s quaking torso and holding him up as his legs spread wider and he pressed back with all the force he could muster. Crowley’s fingers desperately twisted in the sheets, raising his face ever so slightly and repeating his earlier request.

“_Harder_.” And Aziraphale acquiesced, fingerprint bruises blooming on Crowley’s flesh as he the angel increased his pace, pounding ruthlessly into him, shifting the angle _ deeper_, and Crowley keened and bit down on his lip. 

It all hurt _ beautifully_. 

His own cock was aching, and when Aziraphale reached around and took it in his hand Crowley sobbed, pleasure coursing through him, weaving through his veins, spreading like wildfire as Aziraphale started to stroke him to the rhythm of his hips, and it was _ too much_.

Crowley came suddenly and _ hard_, streaking his stomach and the mattress, tasting cotton and salt and blood as he sank his teeth into the tearstained pillow. Aziraphale didn’t stop, didn’t even slow, just moaned as Crowley tightened around him. He continued to hammer into him, holding him up as his limbs went slack and he panted and squirmed, until he came, buried deep within him, hips stilling as his cock twitched and spilled.

They stayed like that, stock-still, aside from their ragged breathing slowly returning to normal. Aziraphale unwound his arm from around Crowley, who collapsed boneless onto the mess he had made of the sheets. He flexed his fingers, feeling the blood return to his white knuckles.

Aziraphale pulled out of him and Crowley hissed at the ache sparking in him. It would linger, he knew, a thrill running down his spine at the thought. The angel settled by his side, running gentle fingers over Crowley’s flushed and sticky skin. He turned to look at him, easing open one eye, all blown-out yellow. Aziraphale was staring at him with calculating eyes, assessing. Making sure he hadn’t been too rough. Crowley needed him to know he hadn’t been.

“You’re perfect.” He sounded wrecked. He was.

Aziraphale smiled shyly and Crowley couldn’t help but smile back. How the angel could go from tearing him apart to making a face like that was beyond him, but he knew exactly how it made him feel. “I love you.”

A kiss, soft, tender, innocent as could be. “I love you too.” Fingers running over bruises, admiring his work, pressing down and making Crowley shudder. Kissing him again to hide the smug grin that Crowley knew was there anyway.

_ Bastard_.


End file.
